


In cups of coffee

by c00nt



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, I was actually feeling inspired for once so this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8405959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00nt/pseuds/c00nt
Summary: Erin frequents a local coffeeshop to ogle a very attractive (yet very inept) barista named Kevin, but ends up getting distracted by a different blonde altogether.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just.. trying something new.

Abby teases you.

Constantly and relentlessly. 

She says that she’s entitled to do so since she’s your best friend, and you haven’t managed to convince her otherwise after 20 years, so you’ve learned to brush it off by now.

Of course, this doesn’t stop her from jeering _Boos_ and tossing little electronic knickknacks—ones that you’re almost _positive_ are irreplaceable—in your direction when you casually announce your hankering for caffeine. 

But that doesn’t bother you none because man, oh _man,_ is the barista attractive.

After two months of exhaustive trial-by-error investigative research (you’re a scientist, after all), you’ve determined that the eye-candy in question works Monday and Tuesday afternoons and Saturday mornings. It took another a couple of weeks before you learned that his name was Kevin because he used to wear his name-tag tacked onto his undershirt. Apparently, it had been getting in his way, but when his manager “totally chewed his ear out about it,” Kevin reluctantly took to complying with the compulsory dress-code.

In any case, you now find yourself an avid caffeine enthusiast.

Just spontaneously.

And inexplicably. 

Yup.

(Abby says you’re disgusting.)

“Hello, customer,” Kevin greets you brightly as you approach the counter. “Welcome to Espress-Yo’self.” He flashes you his go-to broad grin. “What would you like?”

As usual, you briefly fight down the urge to say something irredeemably embarrassing—and possibly verging on sexual harassment—before rattling off your usual drink order.

“Got it,” Kevin says, his brow furrowed as he painstakingly writes on a to-go cup. He didn’t even ask if you wanted your drink for here or to go, but no biggie. It’s enough to just hear his incredibly sexy—British? Australian?—accent. “And your name?” 

But then Kevin’s waving his hand before you can answer, his prominent bicep rendering your mouth half-open but silent.

“Wait. I know this,” he insists.

Long minutes tick by as his blue eyes zero in on your most likely dazed ones. You swallow hard and wait.

He snaps his fingers. “ _Abby,”_ he settles on at last.

“… Uh, no,” you say with a slight giggle. More than a touch disappointed, but not completely disheartened. “Erin actually.” A small crease forms between Kevin’s brows, prompting a hasty backtracking on your part. “But, no, I totally get it!”

You try to mitigate the awkwardness with a casual hand wave. “It happens all the time!”

It doesn’t.

“People _always_ confuse me and Abby.”

They don’t.

But Kevin appears satisfied and jots down the name with an affable wink in your direction. “All righty then. Your drink will be out shortly.” He nonchalantly tosses the cup over his shoulder. “Somebody’ll get that for you right away.”

At once, an exasperated voice rings out, “For the last time, Kevin, y _ou’re_ the somebody who has to get that for her!” The manager rolls her eyes as she steps out of her office.

Kevin frowns and points as his own—very, _very_ muscular—chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, _you,”_ snaps the manager, throwing her hands up. “Do you _see_ anyone else?”

Kevin gives the mostly empty café a once-over. The other patrons don’t even look over, long since accustomed to these all too frequent volatile exchanges. Kevin taps at his chin. “I see… you? And Abby here.”

“Erin,” you correct meekly, but neither Kevin nor the manager takes any note.

The manager is positively fuming as she stomps over. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Kevin says smoothly, shrugging his massive shoulders. “I can do it, I guess.”

“You _guess?”_

But the manager grudgingly acquiesces when Kevin starts pushing her back towards the office. Then snatching the cup off the floor, where it had landed earlier, he lumbers off towards the back.

In no time, Kevin’s announcing that your drink’s ready and places the cup back onto the counter. You quickly reach for the drink, but he’s already drumming his fists against his chest, thwarting any chance for a brief finger touch.

Darn.

“Thank you!” you say.

“You’re welcome, Abby!” Kevin returns cheerily. You look down at your cup and see _ABBY_ scribbled down the side, the name never having been corrected.

Well, that's that.

Hard-pressed to demonstrate your gratitude anyway, you take an enthusiastic sip, then choke on said sip right away. After a delayed reluctant swallow, you cautiously ask, “So, why—er, what is this again?”

“Uh…” Kevin grabs for a random coffee pot and reads the label out loud, “Spice… Pumpkin. Spice pumpkin. Huh.” He looks up with an adorable grin. “There’s a huge space between the two words. Weird.” Then he checks his watch and straightens up. “Oh, I’m two minutes late for my pee break. I'll see you later.” And in three long strides, he’s gone with the coffee pot still in hand.

With a small smile, you congratulate yourself for yet another successful interaction with a gorgeous specimen of manhood. You take another sip of your drink to celebrate and immediately grimace at the taste, but it’s unfortunately much too big of a sip to swallow. 

Free hand waving about frantically and eyes darting around, you notice a spare cup behind the counter. You grab the cup and unceremoniously sputter the unsavory liquid into it. 

“Well,” drawls an amused voice behind you, “ _that’s_ not very sanitary.”

You jerk your head around, embarrassed, and are greeted with a tan jumpsuit, round goggles, and a lopsided smirk. 

“Excuse me.” You retrieve a napkin and dab at your mouth. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

The woman shrugs and adjusts her yellow-tinted goggles. “No skin off my nose, doll.”

Your first instinct is to scowl at the unwarranted nickname, but ingrained etiquette keeps that impulse in check. Just barely anyway.

The office door creeks open, sparing you from coming up with an appropriate response. 

“You Jillian?” asks the manager.

The woman swiftly clicks her boots together and snaps a firm salute. “At your service, ma’am!” she barks loudly enough to draw curious glances from even the most seasoned Espress-Yo’self customer. 

The unamused expression never slips off the manager’s face. “Yeah, no. Call me Patty.” She jabs a thumb towards the kitchen. “The mess is back there. A weird sparking thing came loose.”

“What was it?”

A small smile graces Patty’s features almost sarcastically. “Baby, if I knew what it was, I wouldn’t have called it a ‘weird sparking thing’.” But the good humor drops away when the woman—Jillian—starts clambering over the counter, jangling toolbox and all. “Wha— _Why would you do that?"_

“Parkour,” comes the prompt, easy reply.

Patty glares back at the goofy grin. “Get in there and fix the damn sparking thing,” she orders flatly before disappearing back into her office.

Jillian hurries to comply, but pauses at the doorway, turning around at the last second. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Abby.” She inclines her head.

Then she’s gone and you’re trying to make sense of her comment when your eyes land on your mislabeled cup. Abby’s name still facing out. 

Oh, Kevin…

As if on cue, Kevin’s head pops out of the bathroom. “Patty! I think I clogged the urinal. I was flushing a roll of toilet paper and it didn’t work out... Patty?” He notices you and waves. “Hey, Addie.”

You wave back shyly before heading out.

“Still cute,” you mutter under your breath.

//

“ _Erin,”_ You enunciate it as clearly as possible, leaning over the counter while Kevin writes out what was hopefully your correct name. “E-R-I-N,” you add for good measure. 

“Got. It,” Kevin says, his tongue poking out. “Great!” He drops the cup onto the counter. “Your drink should be out shortly.” His head bobs rhythmically as he starts humming to himself. 

You laugh nervously. “I, uh… I’m pretty sure that _you’re_ supposed to be doing that,” you say, pointing at the cup.

“Oh!” Kevin grabs the cup. “Right, right, ‘cause I’m the barista.” He chuckles to himself and leans closer to whisper, “Isn’t it weird that I’m a barista even though I work at a café, not a bar?”

“Mm… I think those are called bartenders,” you say gently.

Kevin pauses, head cocked to the side as he takes in your words. Then he shakes his head with a bright smile, “Nah, that can’t be right.”

You just grin to yourself and decide to let Kevin have this one. Besides, you’re perfectly content just watching him walk off and studying how his perfect butt fills out those extremely fitted jeans. 

For observational purposes, of course. Because you know. Scientist.

“So!” 

You yelp and jump back as a flash of blonde hair pops up from behind the counter.

Kevin looks over casually and points. “Oh yeah. There’s… somebody behind the counter. Thing. Yeah…” He turns back to his barista duties with a shrug.

Struggling to get your heart-rate back down to a normal range, you clutch at your chest and pant as Jillian watches you with a quirky smile. 

“You’re not an Abby,” she says.

“I’m _not,”_ you gasp out, a bit too shrill for your liking. “What’s it to you?”

Jillian hums thoughtfully, twirling a socket wrench between her fingers. “Nothing. What’s it to _you?_ Do you _want_ to be an Abby?”

“What?” You blink. “ _No._ It’s just…” You trail off, eyes wandering back over to Kevin’s enormous frame. Jillian cocks an eyebrow and follows your gaze. 

“Ohhh,” she lets out between her teeth. She nods once before turning back to you, “Does he only date Abbys?”

“No,” you say, rolling your eyes. Then you frown and bite your lip. “Well. I don’t think so anyway…” Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “Does he?”

Jillian snorts. “I don’t know. I don’t presume to understand the hetero.”

“The _hetero?”_ you echo incredulously.

_“Jillian!”_

Jillian swerves around to face the manager, mimicking a mechanical whirr to go along with her robotic movements. “Ah-yes, boss?”

Patty points over at the counter. “You said you’d get those counters down there to stop jamming! You finished or what?”

“Ah-yeah-huh,” Jillian answers, whirring back around. “Almost there.” She remains upright and grins back at you as her hands resume their tinkering underneath the counter. Five seconds later, she slams her tools onto the counter and drops you a wink. “Done.”

“Me too!” Kevin announces as he pops up behind Jillian. He sets the drink down onto the counter before you and a couple of drops spill over, and you can already tell that it isn’t what you ordered.

“So… What’s this?” you ask, taking the drink.

“Oh, um…” He reads the coffee pot in his hand. “Spice. Pumpkin.”

You’re not sure why it took so long for Kevin to prepare a drink he only has to pour into a cup, but you don’t complain. You take a sip, grimace, and choke out a small _Thank you._ Kevin nods and saunters off, arms swinging wildly, but Jillian is flicking her eyes between you and your cup.

“… What?” you demand.

“It says ‘Ellen’.”

You turn the cup around and sigh because indeed it does say _Ellen._

//

When you walk into Express-Yo'self, Jillian is busy fixing the ceiling fan and doesn't greet you. So, you cautiously walk over to hover by her ladder after giving Kevin your usual order.

You hem and haw over what to say. Wondering if you even _should_  say anything in the first place. Because what if you startle her and she falls off or—

“Y-e-e-es, Erin?”

Your head snaps up. Jillian is still focused intently on her task, but the corners of her lips are quirked ever so slightly and you find yourself smiling too.

“Hey!” you say brightly. “Did you see me come in?”

“No… But I _did_ smell you,” she murmurs matter-of-factly. “I think you’re the only person I know over the age of 5 to use Johnson’s Baby Shampoo.”

You feel a faint warmth tinge your cheeks in what may or may not be a blush. “I have… sensitive eyes,” you say defensively.

Jillian finally looks down at you, sending you a wink through those yellow-tinted goggles of hers. She taps on the lens. “Me too.”

You’re definitely blushing now…

“Aaron! Your, uh,” Kevin reads off his coffee pot, “spicy pumpkin thing is ready.”

“Thank you!” you call out hastily, giving the barista a small wave. He waves back, then slowly settles into a crouch, disappearing behind the counter to... do who knows what.

“So. Aaron…” Jillian says, amused. “I can’t tell if he’s getting closer or further from the mark.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m actually more interested in seeing if he ever gets my drink order right. Some barista, huh?” You glance down at your tweed blazer, brushing off some non-existent dust. Not fidgeting. Just extra tidy. “But... it’s, uh, great that you’re fixing the fan though. It’s been broken since… well, since Kevin tried to do pull-ups off it.”

“Ah.” Jillian cocks her head at the fixture. “That would explain these handprints…” she muses as she fingers the dust coating the blades. With a shrug, she holds out her screwdriver and you take it wordlessly, placing it in her toolbox. “Do you mind handing me the rotary hammer?” Then she slaps her forehead. “Sorry. It’s the one that looks like…”

But you’re already holding out the requested power tool with a smug grin. Jillian blinks and you roll your eyes playfully.

“What, you think I’ve never used one of these before?” you tease. “All part of the job.”

Jillian reaches out and tentatively grasps the handle. “A lady well-versed in power tools. Be still my heart…” 

A nervous giggle breaks free from your chest and you quickly snatch your hand away. “Right. Anyway, speaking of work, I should probably—you know—probably head back. There. To work.” You point at the exit a few time to clarify before actually making your way through the door. 

It isn’t until you’re back at the lab and listening to Abby rave about her latest breakthrough when you remember your drink was still sitting on the counter. 

// 

The next time you visit Espress-Yo'self, Abby accompanies you and you don’t even protest because you’re both tired and cranky as hell. Which was inevitable when the calibration of your reverse tractor beam has continued to be off even after the 100th trial run.

Kevin perks up as soon as he sees you, shooting you finger-guns. “Hey! Erika, right?”

You’re nodding before you can stop yourself. “Yup! Erika, that’s me!” you say.

Abby slowly turns her head towards you with an exasperated look. “Unbelievable. Un. Believable.”

You just shrug and put in your usual order before stepping away to make room for Abby. You crane your neck this way and that, eyes roaming. But the only other person at the café was a regular doing their crossword in a corner.

“Here,” Abby says, thrusting a cup into your hands.

You stare down at the drink in surprise. “That was… quicker than usual.”

“Well, yeah,” Abby says, rolling her eyes, “I made sure he got started on them right away.” She goes to take a sip and pauses. Turning back to Kevin, she asks, “Is there sugar in this?”

Kevin shrugs. “Hm, let’s see.” He plucks the drink out of Abby’s hand and takes a huge gulp, promptly spraying it all over the cup. “Ugh, I hate coffee. Yeah, there’s sugar in there.” He hands the coffee back to a speechless Abby and ducks into the bathroom to wash his mouth out.

Abby looks down at her cup, secondhand coffee dripping all over the top. “Right,” she says with a sigh, “ _That’s_ why I don’t come here.” Rolling her eyes, she shoves the cup in the trash. “Come on, _Erika_. Let’s get back to the lab.”

“Okay,” you say automatically, still looking around the small café, expecting to uncover a hidden nook—or person—at any second.

“You okay?” Abby asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure? Because normally, you’d be halfway down the garbage can just to get a taste of Kevin’s leftover saliva.”

“That’s gross,” you say, wrinkling your nose, because Abby is clearly exaggerating. You’ve never gone quite _that_ far. “I’m just looking for someone."

Abby shoots a glance around. “Looking f— _Who?_ Oh God, another _barista?”_

_ “No.”  _ You shake your head. “Never mind, it’s nothing. No one. Let’s go.”

“Unbelievable,” Abby repeats incredulously. She grabs your elbow and starts tugging you towards the exit. “Come on, we gotta go. Holtzmann’s gonna be at the lab at any minute.” You roll your eyes, but let her drag you out.

You’ve been hearing about this highly esteemed Dr. Holtzmann for the past two weeks now, and you’re honestly a bit fed up with how much Abby gushes on about her. Sure, Holtzmann's an acclaimed engineer specializing in experimental particle physics, but that's supposed to be _your_ wheelhouse, dammit. Who cares if your latest invention could—maybe, but only _maybe_ —benefit from another critical eye?

You toss your mostly full cup into a trashcan as you enter the university science center, ignoring Abby's snarky jibes. You want to continue ignoring her, but you notice that the door to your lab is ajar and swinging.

"Uh, Abby?"

“What?” Abby doesn't look up from her phone, typing out some equation she's just thought of. 

“I think someone broke in…” you say, pointing down the hall. Even though your laboratory isn’t located anywhere fancy-schmancy, you're pretty sure that you _did_ lock the door before leaving.

Abby just waves it off with a snort. “Holtzmann probably just picked the lock. She’s an impatient brand of genius.”

“Charming,” you deadpan as you study the door. Determining that nothing was broken, you step into the lab, eyes narrowed and ready to roll, and promptly freeze in place. Because slouched precariously on your office chair with her feet propped up on a desk is Jillian.

“Holtzmann!” Abby calls out, brushing past your still frame. "How the heck are ya?"

Jillian whirls around on the chair, that trademark grin in place. “Yates!” Then she notices you and the grin falters slightly. “… Erin.” She glances back at Abby, then back at you. “Oh. _Abby_. I get it now.” Her grin flashes back, toothy and wide.

Abby frowns. “You two know each other?”

Your mouth is still too occupied remaining half-open in shock, so Jillian—Holtzmann?—takes over, “Yes, yes! We have a long, drawn-out history, Erin and I. One might even use the word… ‘soulmate’?”

“That… is not accurate,” you manage to say, the words finally dislodging from your throat. “We’ve just met. A few times.”

Abby doesn’t look convinced. “Uh. Huh.” Jillian won’t stop grinning and your cheeks won’t stop flushing uncomfortably. “Well, Holtzmann, this is Dr. Erin Gilbert, our resident particle physicist. And Erin, this is—”

But Jillian jumps out of the chair, pulling her glove off and extending her hand. “Dr. Jillian Holtzmann. Virgo. Avid skiier. Gluten-Full. Handylady by day, nuclear engineer by other days. And a hundred percent jazzed to meet you.”

You take her hand and squeeze gently. “It's nice to meet you too."

//

Hours later, you’re shutting the lab down by yourself as you routinely do on weekends.

Abby left some time earlier as per usual to beat the rush hour home and Jill— _Holtzmann_ has long since left after fixing up your machine with only a few minor adjustments.

Apparently, it was a piece of “really easy cake, except with wires instead of icing.” 

You’re taking her word for it.

After one last glance around to make sure everything was locked tight, you exit the building, hands tucked into your pockets, mind wandering and lingering on a certain blonde goofball. So, it takes you by surprise when you hear someone calling out your name.

You look up and spot Jillian running down the street towards you, an arm waving wildly. When she finally reaches you, she doubles over to pant and catch her breath, politely holding up a finger as she does so. The upper half of her signature tan jumpsuit is unzipped and off, the sleeves tied around her waist, and her green crop top rides up a little when she straightens back up.

Your eyes immediately jump up to match her eyes.

“Jillian!" you say, sounding almost as breathless as the woman who had just sprinted two blocks to come see you. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

“Me neither,” Jillian drawls, waving a hand dismissively. “But I wanted to give you... this.” She holds out a to-go cup that you somehow didn’t notice until now.

You blink, more confused than you want to admit, and take the cup hesitantly. Jillian draws back when your fingertips brush up against hers, tightly fisting both hands by her sides.

“Thank you,” you say because what else can you say? You take a tentative sip, but as soon as the warm taste hits your tongue, you're humming in contentment. Spiced chai.

Jillian stumbles over her words as she rushes to explain, “I know you’re really into that pumpkin spice latte craze, but I figured that you might want to try something else for once. Maybe something you’ve actually ordered. It was just a... hypothesis I wanted to test."

“No, this is amazing,” you insist. “I actually don’t like coffee.” You take another grateful sip and shoot Jillian a bright smile, but she’s still avoiding your eyes. “Is there something else or…?” Jillian doesn’t look up, but makes a rotating motion with her hand. “Hm? Oh.”

You slowly spin the cup around and see a phone number scrawled across the side. And just in case it was unclear, there’s also an arrow pointing to the digits, labeled: _My phone number. Me (J. Holtzmann, PhD)._

The first thing you notice when you look up is the shade of pink coloring Jillian’s ears. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes. A little bit. But if you’re not—”

“Yes,” you blurt out before she can backtrack any further. “Yes. My answer is ‘yes’.”

Finally raising her head, Jillian gapes at you in wonderment. She reaches up and carefully closes her own dropped jaw. “Okay then. Any requests for the aforementioned date?”

“Anything but coffee.”

//

Man, oh man, is Abby going to hate this new development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me some love or hate. I'm strongly into both.
> 
> Or come talk to me [here.](https://whythinktoomuch.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> Thank you for reading (:


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But you’re not nervous.
> 
> It’s just that this dinner would be your fourth date with Dr. Jillian Holtzmann and the novelty has still yet to wear off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all were the nicest commenters I've ever had, so I wrote another chapter. 
> 
> Thank you, lovelies (:

It hasn’t even been two minutes and you’re making yet another minuscule adjustment to your place setting. You’re not nervous per se... Not even a little bit. Your table was just set weird is all.

This time, you shift your cloth napkin clockwise a few degrees, which is necessary because you pushed your silverware closer to your plate, which was necessary because the plate was touching your wineglass, which you’re now starting to think might have to be moved another half-inch over to the right…

But you’re not nervous. 

It’s just that this dinner would be your fourth date with Dr. Jillian Holtzmann and the novelty has still yet to wear off. 

(And going off your first three dates, you’re convinced that it never will.)

 

* * *

  

The first date is all Jillian’s doing. 

It catches you by surprise when she asks to meet at a small aquarium three cities over, especially because there are definitely more notable aquariums (and zoos) in your immediate area. But the giddiness of getting to see Jillian in a casual setting far outweighs your more inquisitive nature.

Also, it would be pretty rude to backtrack after having already agreed to go on a date.

Also, you don't  _want_ to backtrack.

After 35 minutes of driving—twenty-five of which you spent belting Taylor Swift—you pull into the parking lot and can’t help but notice Jillian’s car right away. It’s not very hard to do so. For one thing, it’s a large truck of a rather garish combination of red and white that would have stuck out anywhere. Secondly, it’s the only other car in the parking lot. 

You hesitantly step out of your Volkswagen buggy, but your confusion quickly melts into a small smile because Jillian is bounding over with that inexplicable energy of hers. The smile deepens into a grin of amusement when you realize that this is the first time you’re seeing Jillian in something other than a tan jumpsuit. 

The ensemble is selectively formal, a shade offbeat, and just so so quintessentially Jillian.

Her grey slacks are loose around her hips but belted, pooling slightly over her tan boat shoes, and though her faded graphic t-shirt features a laughing dolphin, the black vest thrown over it provides a nice respectable contrast. Not to mention those yellow-tinted goggles of hers. 

Jillian greets you with a friendly wink and salute, which gives you enough time to gather your thoughts and think of something to say besides _Wow._

_ “Hey.”  _

Well, that’s not much better than _Wow..._ But if Jillian notices or minds, she doesn’t give any indication.

“Hey,” she returns with a grin. “You made it.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. Your directions were very helpful.” You release some laughter that you desperately hope doesn’t sound nervous. “I like your shirt.”

Jillian perks up. “Oh, thank you,” she says, plucking at the tee. “I figured it’d be fitting, considering the circumstances.” 

“Right, it _is_ fitting.” Then, your eyes widen. “ _Figuratively_ speaking, of course. Not _literally._ Not that the shirt _isn’t_ literally fitting…” 

Significantly worse than _Wow._

“Well, thank you,” Jillian says easily. “Both figuratively and literally speaking.” Then, without another word, she turns on her heel and marches straight towards the aquarium, which you now realize appears rather dark and empty. And surrounded by a mostly vacated parking lot.

“Wait, _wait,”_ you all but shout, chasing after the woman. “Jillian, it looks closed!”

Jillian comes to a halt right before the entrance and whirls around, her black vest flapping with her. She cocks her head. “That’s because it is,” she says simply. “It’s always closed on Wednesdays.” Then, whistling something that sounds awfully like Beethoven’s fifth, Jillian faces the door again and starts digging through the many pockets afforded to her by the slacks and vest.

You’re already well acquainted with Jillian’s lock-picking tendencies—your own laboratory break-in in recent memory—and sneaking into an aquarium off hours seems right on brand with her strangely charming eccentric nature.

But you’re also not looking to get arrested.

“Wait. It’s closed on Wednesdays?” you ask, frowning. “But you insisted on meeting on a Wednesday! We even rescheduled to this week to make sure we’d be here on a Wednesday.”

However, when Jillian finally fishes out what she was looking for, in her hand is not her standard lock-picking kit but a bona fide key.

You watch dumbfounded as Jillian opens the door. “You… made a copy of a stolen key?”

“What?” Jillian frowns back at you. “No, of course not! There was no stealing of any kind involved. For this specifically. I have my own key!” 

She holds up said key to demonstrate, but you’re still skeptical. 

“Well… Are you coming in or not?” Jillian beckons with a hand as she moonwalks into the building. “Come on. You’re letting in the cold!”

“It’s 70 degrees,” you say, but you follow her into the aquarium all the same. 

Once inside, Jillian gets all the lights on with a practiced ease, unveiling a friendly enough looking place. Which makes sense, you suppose, considering the typical target audience for aquariums. But the noticeable lack of said target audience makes the setting significantly quieter… and more pleasant. 

Distracted by the deafening silence, you almost collide into Jillian who’s stopped in the middle of the lobby, hand held out expectantly. You raise an eyebrow, but her enthusiasm and smile never waver once. 

“So we don’t lose each other in the crowd,” she insists, and her explanation is compelling enough that even you can’t argue it. So, you slip your hand in hers, fingers zippering together, and let her lead you to the first exhibit. 

//

“So…”

Jillian doesn’t look away from the tank, her finger following the path of one tiny jellyfish in particular. “So…?”

“So, are you going to explain?” You squeeze insistently at her hand. “You know. Why you have a key to this place…?”

“You really want to know?” Jillian asks, finally tearing her gaze away from the fish to look at you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Well, yeah. Why else would I ask?” 

After a short pause to mull over your words, she gives you a half-shrug. “All righty then. We’ll have to go through that door.” 

Eyes narrowing, your gaze follows her finger. “ _That_ door?”

“Yup.”

“The one labeled ‘Authorized Personnel Only’?”

“That’s the one.”

You sigh. “Okay, lead the way.” 

As soon as you’re on the other side of said door, your ears encounter a series of mechanical whirs and buzzes. The door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into an unforgiving darkness, and your steps falter. But Jillian never hesitates and confidently steers you deeper into the darkness. You’re right about to make further inquiries when Jillian finally slows to a stop. 

“How’s your night vision?” Jillian asks. 

“Er. Almost non-existent.” 

With a thoughtful grunt, Jillian releases your hand for the first time to rummage through all her pockets again. Soon she has a tiny penlight and the thin yellow beam reveals a… Well, you actually have no idea what it is. But it’s remarkable. 

Even at first glance, you can tell that the machine before you is significantly newer than everything else in the aquarium. The metal glints silver in the yellow light, looming large with colorful wires running down the entire length of the hallway. Yet despite the enormous size, the machine emits naught but a low hum, which is the only indication that it’s even in use.

Yeah, you don’t know what it is, but you can appreciate the _hell_ out of its exquisite design. 

“What is it?” you ask, fingers twitching a little. “Am I allowed to touch or…?”

Jillian nods enthusiastically. “Of course, go right ahead. It doesn’t bite.”

You step closer and gingerly press your hands against the surface. The metal is smooth, slightly warm, vibrating pleasantly underneath your touch. Remarkable. 

“So, what is it?” you ask again.

“That… is what powers all the filtration systems in the aquarium.”

“Really?” 

“Really!” Jillian says. “A couple of months ago, their generator pooped out and it would have cost an arm and a tentacle to get it repaired. But I heard about the situation through a mutual friend, so I built them a newer, more efficient generator for ten dollars.”

Your head snaps around. “Only ten dollars? But the material _alone_ would have amounted to something in the four digit range. Not to mention the labor itself. And the design…” You trail off as Jillian waves her hand dismissively.

“I don’t need the money,” Jillian says, shaking her head. “I make more than enough as an engineer. These side gigs as a handylady are just fun assignments, you know?” 

“And you charge them only ten bucks…”

Jillian shrugs. “Sometimes more, sometimes less.” She grins at your incredulous expression. “Everyone should have access to a quality mechanic, and if I have the time and means… Why not?” 

“So, _that’s_ why you have a key?” 

“Well, the owner felt bad that they couldn’t offer me more, so they gave me a spare key so I could see the blue tangs anytime I want.” 

A smile quirks the corner of your lips. “The blue tangs, huh?” 

“I really like Finding Dory,” Jillian says defensively, nudging your shoulder, but there’s no malice in her words or gesture.

“Then… do you want to go see them again before we leave?” you suggest, and you swear that somehow Jillian’s bright grin lights up the dark room. 

//

The second date is all on you and you're a bit apologetic for making such a typical suggestion. Especially after possibly the best first date you’ve had in a long time (if not ever), but Jillian refuses to hear it. 

“It’s just a movie,” you say with a groan. “This is hardly a real date. Friends go to the theater all the time. I mean, _look!”_

You gesture wildly at a group of teenagers and they stare back at you, bewildered at the sudden attention. 

“Friends!” 

Jillian watches the teenagers in question give you a wide berth as they walk up to the ticketing booth. “They could have been dating,” she says, once they’re out of earshot. 

“What? No, there were, like, five kids.”

“Polyamory,” Jillian replies simply and seriously. “Kids are starting to experiment younger and younger, you know.”

You grin. “Is that so?” 

“Yes, yes! My kid cousin is poly actually,” Jillian says. “It’s not for me per se, but they make it work with their partners. Smart kid.”

“Must run in the family,” you tease, and Jillian flashes you her characteristic toothy grin. “Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t think of anything better.”

Movies are always your go-to choice because it usually precludes any awkward conversations you might accidentally initiate. Plus, you’ve been meaning to see Moana for a while now, far _far_ from Abby’s rolling eyes and teasing remarks. 

“Erin.” Jillian’s tone gives you pause as your eyes cut back to her. “No more apologies. This is our very first movie together—theater or otherwise. Believe me, I’m a-plenty excited to be here.” And her tone is so sincere and her eyes so open that you actually do believe her.

“Okay…” you finally relent. “But at least let me cover the expenses.”

Jillian just offers you her elbow. “I won’t say no to that.”

After purchasing the tickets and being ushered inside, you notice Jillian’s blue eyes bouncing to the concession stand way more obviously than she probably intends to. 

“How do you feel about getting some snacks?” you suggest casually.

“Well, if you insist,” Jillian says politely, but the insistent way she tugs you onto the line doesn’t go unnoticed. “So, if we get Number 3, we can split the large popcorn and get two medium drinks… Unless you don’t like buttery things because I could always just settle for some candy. Honestly, there’s nothing here that I don’t like…”

A hand to her shoulder has Jillian pausing mid-ramble and beaming at you. That’s definitely something to file away for the future. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having as long as I get a small diet coke to go with it. And like I said, I’ll cover the expenses, so go crazy.”

Jillian raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Just order whatever your little heart desires.”

Later on, after your wallet’s survived a not insignificant wallop and you’re helping Jillian carry nearly half her weight in sweets and popcorn, you still can't bring yourself to regret a single thing because the excited skip to Jillian's step makes it all worth it.

Once settled comfortably in your seats, you slowly slide your hand onto Jillian’s jean-clad leg, letting it rest right above her knee. She flicks her gaze down at your hand, then back up to your face in askance. You hope the theater is dark enough to hide any possible blushing.

“You know. Just in case we lose each other,” you say lamely, wondering how on earth Jillian manages all these cutesy gestures so naturally. “It’s more crowded here than at the aquarium, you know.”

Wiping her buttery hand off on her opposite shoulder, Jillian brings your hand to her lips and plants a small kiss on your knuckles before returning it back to her leg. She gives your hand two pats, then dives right back into her snacks.

Jillian periodically offers you some of the goods, which you of course accept. But in truth, you’re perfectly content to sip at your diet coke and watch her indulge until the movie starts.

//

A couple of hours later, you’re walking back to your car, hand in hand. “You know, I gotta say… I didn’t think you’d be able to finish _everything_. I’m quite impressed actually.”

Jillian chuckles and pats her belly. “Bottomless blackhole here,” she drawls. “People used to call me ‘garbage disposal’.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Though that was ‘cause I fixed their garbage disposal. Faulty motor. So, nothing to do with my eating habits actually.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you unlock your car with your remote key as soon as it’s within sights. 

Jillian releases your hand without warning, taking off towards your car in a frantic sprint. For a brief moment you’re convinced that you’re about to lose an impromptu race, but Jillian skids to a stop on the driver’s side and opens the door. 

“Uh, Jillian…” You increase your pace to a jog. “What are you—”

But she just grins at you and steps aside, dutifully holding the door open for you. “Your chariot awaits, dear coachperson!” Jillian announces with a flourish. 

“Coachperson?” you repeat, amused. “Not ‘milady’ or ‘your highness’?”

“Of course not. The nobles and royalty wouldn’t be the ones driving the carriage. If anything, _I’m_ the royalty here.” 

You roll your eyes, stepping into your car. “Fine, get in, your majesty.” Jillian closes the door after you and shoots you a double thumbs up before scampering around to the passenger’s side.

“Thanks again for driving me, by the by.”

“No problem. It was on the way.” You don’t mention the fact that the rattling noise and puffs of smoke emanating from her truck had concerned you after your first date. 

When you pull up in front of her building, you feel your treacherous pulse pick up, pulsing somewhere in your ears. “Anyway. I had… a great time.” You try not to wince at your own clichéd words. Why are you like this?

Thankfully, Jillian doesn’t seem to mind. “Me too! I’ve never known anyone to start crying as soon as a movie started.”

You narrow your eyes, lips twisting into a wry smile. “All right, that’s enough. Get out of my car.”

“Okay.” 

But Jillian doesn’t budge from her seat. Instead, she leans in and before you know it, you’re meeting her halfway to brush your lips together. Her hand comes to cup your face as she breaks off the kiss. 

“Text me?” she murmurs against your mouth.

“Of course,” you say breathlessly. 

“Good. Okay. Bye!” And off Jillian disappears in a flurry of blonde hair and flannel, car door slamming behind her. 

You instinctively lick your lips and the curious combination of chocolate and butter spreads across your tongue. It’s strangely fitting. 

//

The invitation to the third date catches you by surprise. Partly because it seems to come out of nowhere in the midst of your banter over who was the more iconic Spice Girl. Partly because the message itself is strange. Even for Jillian.

_This Friday. Formal wear. I’ll pick you up @ 7pm._

You frown at the message before deciding to ask just how formal she's talking about.

The answer comes right away:  _Like you’re about to attend a mobster’s wedding in the 20s._

_… That’s strangely specific,_ you write back. 

_You’re trying to impress the kingpin. Also, what about that time Scary Spice tells off that alien when it tries to grope her?_

_Nothing fictional! Your arguments have to be grounded in REAL things._

_Fictional? Excuse you; Spice World was a bona fide documentary._

//

When Friday finally rolls around, you’re waiting outside your apartment, trying not to fret over your long slinky black dress. Simple yet tasteful, pleasantly offset by the jewelry Abby helped you choose over Skype. The two of you had settled on a simple silver chain and diamond earrings, to which Abby commented, “Eh. You’ve looked worse.”

That glowing commendation along with the discomfort pinching at your feet and your typical anxiety has your fingers worrying the silky material of your dress. You’re halfway through convincing yourself that you should just change—switch out your heels at the very least—when an unfamiliar car pulls up before you.

Jillian steps out from the backseat with those sparkling blue eyes of hers and suddenly you realize that nothing really matters anymore.

“Well, thank the gay heavens for blessing us this fine day...” Jillian murmurs quietly as her eyes flick down your figure, and you’re inclined to agree.

She’s sporting a form-fitting gray pinstriped blazer over a black button-down and vest, contrasting with her skinny white tie. And to literally top it all off, Jillian has a black fedora which she now tips at you. 

You try to clear your throat as quietly as possible. “So, you weren’t kidding about the whole 20s thing, huh?” 

“Am I ever joking?”

“Yes,” you say, blinking. “Constantly and needlessly!”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Jillian says in so serious of a tone that you’re laughing despite yourself. With another dazzling grin, she waves you into the car and it doesn’t occur to you until way after the night’s over that you’ve forgotten all about your feet pain.

//

“So, why the uber?” you ask, hoping the conversation would distract Jillian from the fact that you’re gawking openly at her.

“Better safe than sorry, innit?” Jillian says, gently elbowing your ribs. 

“Well, I suppose so,” you admit hesitantly, but you don’t get the chance to say much more when the uber stops at a dark, empty street. 

You’re starting to see a pattern with Jillian.

“Why, thank you, Trevor,” Jillian chirps, slipping a 5 dollar bill into the driver’s hand. “That trip was certainly worth the five star review!”

Trevor just gives a curt nod before speeding away. Jillian holds out her elbow, which you gladly take, and starts leading you into a particularly dark alleyway. 

“You ready?” she asks, her enthusiasm bubbling up and spilling into her words. 

“I’m not sure…” you admit. Your eyes can’t help but dart around, taking in the shadowy nooks and graffitied brick walls. “You didn’t bring me here to kill me, right?”

The loud guffaw Jillian emits does little to calm your nerves. “Erin, you say the funniest things.”

… That’s not an answer. 

“That’s not an answer,” you say weakly, but Jillian just squeezes your hand in hers and gently tugs you to a doorway that appears boarded up and out of commission.

Sending you a comforting wink, Jillian raps her knuckles in a syncopated pattern on one of the wooden panels. To your surprise, an outline of a small square lights up next to the doorframe, sliding with an extended hiss to reveal a shiny new intercom. 

The speaker crackles, coming to life, and you hear a muffled question.

_What eats snowballs in the dead of summer?_

Jillian leans in close and enunciates clearly as possible, “Ice zombies.”

“What?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “That’s _seriously_ the answer?” 

“I didn’t come up with it,” Jillian whispers to you, covering the speaker with her free hand. “Don’t bite the kooks that feed ya liquor.” 

With another crackle, the muffled voice retorts, “ _… I heard that.”_

You cover your face and Jillian giggles. She leans into the intercom again, “Sorry, Terry. You know I mean well.”

“ _Yeah, yeah…”_

But the door swings open and immediately you’re hit with a wall of sound, consisting of live jazz music and yammering voices. You clutch onto Jillian’s hand as she weaves expertly through the crowds and towards the bar. The area is dimly lit and there are too many people to study carefully, but you definitely pay attention to one prominent detail. 

“Jillian!” You have to lean in, lips brushing against her ear, to be heard. “Everyone here’s dressed normally!” 

Jillian pauses to glance around the room, as if to confirm your observation. “That they are.”

“Why did you insist that we dress for the 20s then?” 

“Do you need an excuse to play dress up?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I suppose not.” 

Then she’s inches away from your face and gives you a small peck, catching you off guard and silent. “Let me buy you a drink,” she says. 

Sliding onto a couple of recently vacated barstools, Jillian waves her hand insistently until a short man with a handlebar mustache and checkered suspenders waltzes over. 

“About time you made it down here,” the bartender says, shaking Jillian’s hand vigorously. “I was beginning to think you forgot about us.” 

“Not a chance, Terry,” Jillian drawls with a wink. She gestures aimlessly between you and the bartender. “Erin, this is Terry. Terry, Erin. She’s new here.” 

Before you can give a proper greeting, Terry’s pumping your hand with an intense fervor. His enthusiasm seems as genuine as it's contagious and you find yourself relaxing in his grip despite the clamor of tipsy strangers. 

Jillian and Terry then launch into a lively conversation, catching each other up on their most recent adventures, so you let your eyes wander. Eventually, they land on the wall behind Terry’s head and your eyes narrow as they study the material.

A gentle squeeze to your hand interrupts your thoughts and you turn back to Jillian and Terry, who are now smiling up at you. “I’m so sorry. I was just admiring the insulation built into the walls,” you quickly explain. “I mean, man, that’s some quality soundproofing you got going there, Terry. You can’t even hear the music in the alleyway!”

“All Jillian’s doing,” Terry says, slapping Jillian on the back as she shakes her head. “Oh, don’t be modest!” He turns back to you. “She not only singlehandedly installed all the thermoplastic sheets, but she’s also the one who rigged that fancy password doodad out in front. All for the price of one margarita.”

“It was a fun little project,” Jillian insists, waving her hand. “It benefited me as much as you.”

“Of course it did,” Terry says with a chuckle. “In any case, that’s why I’ll be buying all your drinks tonight.”

Jillian’s sparkling blue eyes widen. “But I was going to buy Erin a drink.”

“Nonsense. Any friend of yours shouldn’t have to pay either.”

“But…” Jillian leans forward on her elbows to say her next words in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “She’s _not_ just a friend, Terry. This is kind of a date and it wouldn’t be the same if you paid for her drinks, capische?” 

Terry just snorts. “Whatever, J. You do you. Either way, I’m whipping up the best margaritas y'all have ever tasted.” He dusts off his hands and asks you, “You like strawberry?”

“I love it,” you reply with a laugh.

He shoots you one last wink before waltzing off again.

//

“I still think we could have splurged for one more,” Jillian says, on the uber ride home. “Terry sure knows how to make a mean, yet sweet and refreshing margarita.”

You laugh. “I think three was the perfect amount. Just enough to feel like dancing, but not enough to get vomit-y drunk.”

“If you say so,” Jillian murmurs, dropping her head on your shoulder. You spend the rest of the car ride watching her play with your fingers. 

When the uber finally stops outside your apartment building, Jillian gets out with you, insisting on walking you up the front steps. So, you let her, hand in hand and arms swinging slightly. At the top, Jillian plants a kiss on your knuckles and turns to leave, but you just tighten your grip on her hand. 

Jillian cocks her head at you in question and you train your gaze past her shoulder at the uber, avoiding her eyes. 

“So…” you start. You clear your throat, desperately trying to draw some liquid courage, but you’re unfortunately very, very sober now. “Do you... want to come up for a nightcap?” 

“Oh, no thank you,” Jillian says. “I’m pretty much all alcohol-ed up for the moment. Thank you though.” 

You blink. “Uh, okay… How about a glass of water?” 

“That sounds nice, but I actually have water at home,” she replies easily, and you can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

Is she doing this on purpose?

You blow out a breath and decide to give it one last try. “Jillian.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to come upstairs with me for sweet lady kisses and gay activity,” you say as evenly as possible.

At first, you think you might’ve crossed the line because Jillian just gapes at you in a slack-jawed wonder. But then she recovers and gives you a slow nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Yes, okay.” 

You snort into your hand. “Well, you should go send the uber away then…”

“Right,” Jillian says, and the way the tops of her ears go pink has you feeling warmer than the alcohol had earlier. As you watch her run down the stairs to inform the driver, you contemplate whether the fluttering in your stomach’s from nervousness or excitement. Then, when you see her climbing the steps again with that goofy grin of hers, you decide it’s both. 

She makes you pancakes in the morning.

 

* * *

  

A very loud, very familiar voice rings out in the restaurant, breaking you out of your daydreams. 

“Hey! _Hey,_ I’m _here!”_

And there Jillian is. Sprinting towards your table. 

Out of breath and slightly sweaty, she stops to give you a small kiss before sliding into her seat across from you. 

“Sorry I’m late, babe,” she wheezes, fanning herself with a hand. “Fire in the lab.”

“Oh, no,” you say with a gasp. “Is everything okay?” 

Jillian flaps her hand nonchalantly. “Yes, yes, yes, of course. It burned down everything it was supposed to.”

“It— _what?”_

“Did you order yet?” Jillian asks between gulps of water. You just shake your head because you know any further clarification wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

“No, not yet. I was waiting for you.”

Her face relaxes into a smile. “Aww, you didn’t have to do that…”

“But I wanted to,” you reply, fixing her with a smirk of your own. You open your menu. “Plus, I wanted your input. Do you think the seared salmon would go better with this wine or—?”

“All righty, ladies,” booms a voice you haven’t heard in a while. “So, what are we having today?”

Your eyes widen slightly as you notice a large muscular man, practically bursting from his rather tight tuxedo, hovering at your table. Kevin scratches his silky blonde hair as he looks down at you. 

“Hang on. I know you from somewhere…” He snaps his fingers. “Esther! At the café! You get the pumpkin spice coffee.” 

“ _Erin,”_ you correct, exasperated. “And I’ve actually never ordered the pumpkin spice.”

Kevin frowns. “Oh, sorry. I thought I recognized you. I guess you just got one of those faces…”

“What? _No._ You _do_ recognize me!" you sputter. "I used to go to Espress-Yo’self all the time!”

Jillian places a hand on top of yours and you settle back into your chair with a sigh. “Hi, Kevin,” she says.

“Oh, hi… you.” 

“So, what brings you here?” Jillian asks, clearly unfazed despite the irritating situation. “Are you our waiter?” 

That seizes your attention once more. “Oh God. _Are_ you our waiter? Oh no. We have to leave right now immediately.” You go to slide out of your chair, but Jillian gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Your waiter?” Kevin echoes slowly. “No, of course not. I’m a barista. At Espr—”

“I know where you work!” you exclaim. “But if you don’t work here, why did you walk over and ask us what we were having?”

“Well, I was curious.”

You and Jillian share a bewildered expression. Well, _you_ were bewildered. She’s more amused. You’re about to send Kevin away as politely as possible when another voice you haven’t heard in a while chimes in. 

“Kevin!” The manager of Espress-Yo’self stomps over to your table. “Why’re you bothering these nice people?”

“Oh, sorry, babe. I thought I recognized them.”

“You _do_ recognize us,” you murmur to yourself. Then you freeze. “Wait. Did you say ‘babe’?” Your eyes narrow, flicking back and forth between Kevin’s enormous frame and Patty’s red strapless dress. 

Patty just scoffs at you, grabbing Kevin’s beefy arm. “Don’t judge me. He’s beautiful, okay?” And with that, she hauls him away back to what’s presumably their table, Kevin waving back at you all the while. 

Head shaking in disbelief, you turn to face Jillian again, but she’s just silently poring over her menu.

After a pause or two, she finally looks up to say, “Yeah, I think the salmon would go great with the wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr if you'd like, @whythinktoomuch.
> 
> Cheers (:


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